


Coping

by Rainyhart



Series: Enduring Life [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2324393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainyhart/pseuds/Rainyhart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer makes a decision to take Sam away for winter break to try and keep his mind of his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coping

**Author's Note:**

> N/A -- sorry for the huge gap in updates, I promise I'm still working on this series when I can!

Weeks after the meeting with their brothers Sam still hasn’t’ let his phone out of his sight. It’s their last day of finals, and Lucifer honestly hasn’t seen him so miserable before. The weight of the words Dean had said and the impact they had on Sam is almost enough for him to take control of the situation and call his brother with demands of an apology, but it’s just not – enough. 

Sam’s preference of a stress-reliever is easily running more so than anything else. Lucifer found this out when he came stumbling into their room caked in sweat and dirt from god knows where to shower on more than one occasion. It wasn’t just when he went to track club, either. Any free time he had away from gluing his attention to his books was spent outside, running. Until his hair would become damp and curtain the top of his face, nursing cramps in his side with cheeks stinging red from the force of the wind. 

Lucifer thinks maybe Dean won’t call at all so close to the holidays to save an awkward conversation. He wishes he would, for Sam’s sake. He wishes the whole thing hadn’t happened at all. If he hadn’t handed Sam his phone in the first place that morning, ignored it and wrapped his arms around him to keep the heat trapped under the blanket. Left kisses on the back of his neck and murmured quiet whisperings of things he’d read in his, quoted by Sam, ‘Big-Ass-Book-Of-Mythology’ until they both drifted back off into a lazy sleep, maybe he wouldn’t be experiencing the dejected look he sees on Sam now as he packs the last few things into his suitcase for the long Winter break ahead of them. 

“Where are we going?” Sam asks, for about the eighth time that day since Lucifer brought up a trip.

He’d thought of the idea on the ride back from the catastrophe of a family Thanksgiving dinner they experienced just weeks ago. A trip up north to a colder part of the US so that the both of them could have snow for the holidays, for once. He was excited to get away from the plastic wrapped meals and overly-peppy faces of students hyped on caffeine, each one far too prideful of themselves to admit how tired they truly felt after weeks of grueling classes that followed the holiday just before. 

Neither had an open invite back home for Christmas anyway, as expected, so the trip was just the next best thing he could put together since they had stayed on campus for the former break already.

“Somewhere,” Lucifer says. He tosses Sam his travel duffel off the bed to discover his keys underneath, which he snatches in a swift motion before taking one last look around their room. “I guess if we need anything else we can make a stop.”

Sam keeps quiet, but Lucifer notices him shrug, phone in hand again once he sets both the bags near the door. 

That was another thing. The quiet. With Sam being the more talkative of the two it just made things eerily silent when he decided he didn’t want to chat as much. About anything, really. Nothing about class, or how hard exams were, how it was actually starting to get colder in California and how much it sucked to have to walk between the buildings with scarves and coats to keep from freezing.

Just nothing.

“We should get going,” Lucifer stands to stretch. He strolls over to shoulder his bag and makes sure Sam has everything he’s packed before pulling the door open and leading the way out, hoping the ride there will get Sam to relax.

\--

It does, just barely. Sam’s a grump in the car, only speaking up when he’s hungry or needs to use the bathroom every 250 miles or so, not even bothering to respond when Lucifer points out any interesting things he finds while he’s driving; but he does look, at least, and Lucifer guesses that’s enough. 

His car is a restored 1976 Trans Am, black with gold trimmings, passed down from generations of Morningstars throughout the years and given to him by Michael long before they had their brotherly fall out. It stunk of cigarettes and their elder Chartreux cat Crusoe, but no matter how many air fresheners he’d used on the leather interior it was something he’d gotten used to when it stuck around for so many years that he couldn’t imagine using the car without it. The part that made it his was the gold paint job he had done on the hood—a golden bird with its wings spread apart, open beak squawking as though ready to go into war, expressing its freedom and independence for all to see. It cost a pretty penny but he worked enough during his high school years to get it done when he received the car as a present for getting his license as a sophomore. 

It had a radio too. He usually has it set to a classic station, but today it’s off. They’re driving in silence, almost as though to encourage Sam to talk. Five hours in, Lucifer reaches over and squeezes the hand in Sam’s lap. 

Seven hours in, Sam slips his phone into his pocket. 

\--

It takes them nine and a half hours to get to Bend, Oregon with all their stops for food and restrooms included, so by the time they find a motel to stay at, check in, and drag their bags inside the room to settle down neither of them wants to do anything at all but sleep. Sam takes the bathroom almost immediately while Lucifer takes in the room, colors of rust and brown seeming to be the theme. He got them a single, one queen bed set center in the room with four sets of pillows, two of them shoved neatly into flame orange cotton pillowcases. It’s surprisingly up-scale for the price-range and location, but he’s not complaining.

The rest of the room follows through with the same theme; a fall colored armchair along the wall, dark wooden nightstands, countertops and table, a black microwave. One object that stands out from the rest is the white mini-fridge by the outlet next to the door, and for a moment Lucifer wonders why of all colors, when it could be black—clucking his tongue at the pure inconsistency of it. 

“Something wrong?” 

Sam comes out from the bathroom dressed in his favorite matching pair of cotton pants and shirt, purchased his second week at Stanford just to have something the name on it. The white letters stretch tightly across the red against his chest, enough to highlight the muscles there he’d been working on at the gym lately, and even with how tall Sam is his gray pants still happen to pool around his ankles, contrasting to the white socks on his feet. 

“No,” Lucifer says, “It reminds me of Sahara.” He licks his lips and meets Sam’s eyes, watching him as he travels over to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Yeah?” Sam sounds interested. 

“Yeah,” He nods. They’re talking, and it feels good. It feels good because it’s more than, ‘You hungry?’, or ‘Want to stop for a bathroom?’ It’s more than a nod from the passenger seat and the anxious tapping of fingernails against a glass phone screen. It feels good. “It’s the colors. Like a summer evening in the Sahara, if you ignore the mini fridge.” 

“I think it’s symbolic. Like the sun, the white hot blistering heat of the sun in the desert. Or like—a star in the night, even the moon. I think it fits.”

Lucifer joins him on the bed, then, asks if he’s hungry since they’re on the topic of mini-fridges and deserts, lets him know he saw a place just down the road he could get take-out, a convenience store right next door for drinks. Sam says yes, but makes no move to go with him, so Lucifer slips on his shoes and coat, telling him that he’ll be back in twenty minutes at the latest.

\--

When he gets back Sam has his phone out. The screen dims immediately with the press of a lock button and he slides off the bed to help set out the food Lucifer went to get. He got them both the classic burger and fries, their meals in white take-out boxes, ketchup and mustard packets thrown in by request. Sam makes a tssk sound under his breath, but takes his box to the bed, eyeing the thick burger with guilt. 

“You don’t have running club until it warms up again,” Lucifer points out when he notices the look.

“Hm,” Sam grunts, but he plucks a fry up anyway. 

They sit on the bed together and eat, comfortable in the silence, and neither brings up the phone, and neither of them wants to. So they don’t. 

By the time they’re finished the sun has long since gone down. Lucifer shuts their curtains when he throws their trash away and leaves a sleepy Sam on the bed to change into something more comfortable to sleep in. Unlike Sam, he doesn’t mind the cold much, making his ratty sports t-shirt and underwear a normal choice by his standards, feet completely bare. 

He realizes Sam could be asleep by the time he gets into bed beside him, pressing chest to back with arms slowly snaking around his middle, but then a moment later he hears an intake of breath that gets him to think otherwise. 

“You’re cold,” Sam mutters. 

“Oh?” Lucifer pipes up, amused, “You must be new here; Sam, was it? Lucian. Nice to meet you.”

Sam laughs.

“You’re an ass,” He rolls over to meet Lucifer’s smirk, and is caught slightly off guard when he gets lips pressed against his own. 

They kiss just half-asleep like that, soft nibbles with faint flicks of the tongue, licking the salt off their lips left from dinner until they’re both warm and exhausted, drifting to sleep with their foreheads pressed together and whispers from Lucifer saying everything is okay. That it will be—okay. 

\--

Sam wakes in the morning to the sound of rustling plastic. When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of Lucifer freshly showered and dressed, standing at the edge of the bed with an overly smug look on his face. 

“It’s six o’ clock in the morning,” Sam groans when he gets a look at the clock. “Look I know today is our first official day of break and you’re still used to schedule but-…”

“Come on,” Lucifer extends his hand to pull Sam out of bed, expression softening. 

And so Sam does.

It turns out Lucifer woke up early to get to the store while he was still asleep. On their table lay icing with various bags of candy and graham crackers, none of it being anything Sam expected to see at this hour of the day, but it was there nonetheless. 

“Did you get a sugar craving?” Sam asks incredulously, watching with expressed stupor.

Lucifer sits in one of the chairs at the table. “Yeah,” He sweeps his gaze over the collection spread on the table. “I got tired of all that stereotypical breakfast stuff.” 

The statement drips sarcasm, and Sam relaxes some knowing his boyfriend hasn’t suddenly decided to live off candy for the rest of his life.

“Gingerbread houses,” Lucifer smiles up at him, “It’s a tradition at my house during the holidays to make one every year. If we make it now we can have it for dessert so sit down and grab a wall already.” 

With that said Sam doesn’t need any more information. He sits across from him and they work in silence, sticking gumdrops and peppermints to icing and constructing the graham cracker walls when all the sides are to satisfaction. Really, Sam doesn’t remember ever doing traditional stuff like this for Christmas back home, but with Lucifer having so many siblings he’s not really surprised they would. 

At least until he was nine Sam would save pieces of candy from Halloween until Christmas Eve, organizing them onto a plate near the fireplace right before he went to bed, but it wasn’t until he got curious enough to stay up that he realized it was Dean that would eat the candy before he woke up Christmas morning and not Santa like he believed. 

Sam stops working at the thought of his brother and swallows. He’s not sure where he left his phone when he went to sleep last night and it’s making him nervous because Dean could have called. He might have called and Sam was sleeping so he’d have no idea. He probably called and Sam has to get up and find his phone right now but the moment he tries Lucifer reaches out to gently grab his arm. 

“Hey,” He says. “It snowed.” 

It’s enough to get Sam to sit back down. 

\--

His phone is absent of any missed calls or messages when he finds it twenty minutes later. They had finished up the gingerbread house and agreed to get some air outside in that time, to let their snack for later sit a while, and bundled themselves in the coats, scarves, and hats Lucifer had instructed Sam bring just in case.

Outside the air is much chillier than Sam is used to, but it’s worth it to be able to see the blanket of snow covering the cars parked in the lot. Lucifer’s especially, the spread eagle buried beneath the white pile of snowflakes, its cries of freedom muffled by white. He tries to ignore the fact that he hadn’t brought any gloves with him, picturing them laying somewhere in the back of his closet at home because he hadn’t thought they would be of any use with a climate like California’s. If Sam could guess, he’d say there was at least three inches on the ground. It’s enough to leave an imprint that sticks; at least. 

He loses track of Lucifer in the midst of thought, but then something hits his bicep and he doesn’t even have to look to know where this is headed. 

They spend a good hour and a half outside, throwing snowballs around the lot while running around the perimeter. It’s all in good fun, but pelting snow around really helps Sam ease stress. Lucifer can’t even count on his hands the amount of times he sees Sam genuinely smile each time he manages to get a perfect hit, which was the goal of the vacation in the first place so he’s not complaining no matter how many times he gets a mouthful of snow. 

Especially because wrestling in the cold that long earns them a warm shared shower when they’re through, and really, neither could pass that up.


End file.
